


Too Young For the Golden Age

by orphan_account



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: (I promise), Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Christmas, First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-02 06:08:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8653735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dan, Phil swears, is the best thing that's ever happened to him. Living here in this flat with his best friend, someone who's so similar yet so wildly different to him is the best case scenario. He's never had to worry about not getting along with his roommate, and even his family loves Dan. This dynamic they have is too perfect for Phil to shatter, no matter how much he'd like to.So he bites his tongue. He bites his tongue and he holds back and plays absently with the frayed strings on his sweatshirt, tries to make himself push these emotions far, far down inside of him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic was created for the phantom big bang which you can find [here!!](http://phandombigbang.tumblr.com)  
> this was beta'd by [kellie](http://www.wallflowerchronicles.tumblr.com) who was so great and definitely made this story at least 10 times better than it would have originally been!!  
> warnings for: alcohol, fights between friends/miscommunication issues  
> title from 'amy' by green day!!

It’s exactly 7:43 in the evening when Dan comes through the door, his cheeks a light shade of pink and his hair tousled in unruly curls, mostly thanks to the wind. He looks positively spent, exhausted from his long day of exams. He has every right to be, though. It’s finals week for him, and with each one he takes, he seems more and more exhausted.

“Rough one?” Phil asks from the kitchen, shaking his head at his best friend’s appearance. He pauses for a moment, watching Dan nod and discard his jacket over the back of the couch. He pauses tentatively and holds out a mug, not even needing to ask before Dan grabs it, grinning and offering a soft “could really use this, you know.”

It’s an unspoken sort of thing. Phil knows that Dan’s having a miserable time finishing up the term, and in turn, Phil tries to make things easy for him in whatever way he can. He’ll make Dan’s tea (he always makes it exactly how Dan likes), or he’ll start on dinner (which Dan is always increasingly grateful for).

“I’m beginning to think maybe I shouldn’t even  _ take  _ my finals, Phil. Like, how bad would it be?” the younger boy asked. “You can finish your degree and we can just keep living here and it wouldn’t even be bad, would it?” He bites his lip as a way to silence himself, though it’s already chapped, and shakes his head, shifting his gaze from Phil down to his feet.

“You’ve just got to make it through two more finals. You can do that, can’t you?”

Dan’s smart, so of course he can make it through his finals, and perhaps once they’re over, the two of them could make a time out of celebrating the fact that they’re a third of the way through this school year.

“Plus,” says Phil, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got tomorrow off! It’s just me and you, then. You can actually relax, I can go down and pick up muffins or bagels or something of the sort,” he promises.  It’s not that either of them are going to be up for breakfast, but at times, it’s nice to sit down and have something to eat in the morning.

Dan nods eagerly at that, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He lets a finger pull at the frayed strings at the end of his jumper before looking back up to meet Phil’s gaze and pauses for a moment, like he’s thinking, and asks “would you wanna watch a movie, maybe make dinner? You know, since my motivation for studying is precisely none,” sounding rather rushed.

Phil interjects with an enthusiastic “yeah, of course!” It never seems to matter what he and Dan do; they can go into town for the day, they can stay in their flat and play video games, or anything in between, and Phil always, always enjoys it.

It’s easy, this routine they’ve fallen into. The two have a close relationship, to say the least, and it isn’t necessarily one easily understood by most people outside of the two of them. It’s not that either of them  _ minds  _ doing their daily tasks alone, but why cook dinner by yourself when you’ve got your best friend right there? The longer they’ve spent in this flat, the closer they’ve become, and Phil can’t say he minds at all.

“So, movies,” he begins slowly, raising an eyebrow, “do you just wanna see the Netflix recommendations or what?” They’ll always start a movie, but it’s rare that both of them are paying attention by the end; it’s either someone falls asleep, or someone gets distracted with their phone, or one of them needs to get up and stretch, so they don’t put much thought into the actual selections. Of course, they have favorites, but sometimes it’s nice to mix things up.

“Something new,” says Dan, nodding. “I’ve had such a boring day, sitting in the halls all afternoon. I need something new.”

New is exactly what they find. After rejecting no less than 10 of Netflix’s ideas, they decide on a film called  _ My Girl,  _ settling themselves in amongst the mess of pillows and blankets on the couch. Phil can’t help but sigh, just thinking how lovely this feels. Dan’s sat back up against the couch, his chest rising and falling at a steady rate, and he just looks so engrossed in the movie, his head turned at a curious angle, as if he’s really trying to take it in for what it is.

Night has fallen on the city of London by the time they’re halfway through the movie, though the view out of their window is illuminated by street lights casting their gentle amber glow on the bustling streets underneath them. The world outside is loud, full of all sorts of people rushing through their day: they rush to get to work, and to get through the day, and to get home from work, and they rush to bed time. It must be awfully unpleasant to wish your days away.

Met with another small, wistful sigh, Phil’s struck with the fact that he can’t think of a day that’s passed that he hasn’t loved since Dan has moved in. Even today, they haven’t done anything spectacular, but it’s just being around Dan and his personality that makes things feel so special.

Thinking of Dan, however, he’s long since fallen asleep. His head falls to the side against Phil’s shoulder, and the older of the two drapes a thin blanket over his lap. He’s a bit uncomfortable, seeing as his arm is asleep and tingling under Dan, but his best friend just looks so utterly peaceful, and he had such an early start to his day that Phil doesn’t have the heart to move him.

So, he doesn’t move him, not until it’s two hours later when the credits are rolling, and he’s so exhausted he can practically feel his body becoming heavy with sleep.

He wakes Dan gently, letting a hand softly run up the side of his arm, and asks “hey, d’you wanna wake up?” Dan’s had a long day, of course, but he’s going to be incredibly sore tomorrow if he doesn’t get off to bed, and frankly, he could use the sleep.

He doesn’t bother protesting, looking up at Phil through wide eyes and nodding, mumbling a small “sorry for falling asleep,” before he pushes off the couch to head off to bed, too exhausted to even consider changing into pajamas.

Dan sleeps soundly that night in a tangle of sheets and his duvet, and Phil stays awake, pacing: first his room, then the hallway, then the lounge, and back to his room again until he lets himself fall back onto his bed, sighing deeply.

* * *

 

Two days later, Dan’s gone again. He left pretty early that morning, leaving Phil a text to explain that he’d be down at the university library before his final and that he’d be home later in the day. Suffice to say, Phil had a morning so quiet it didn’t feel quite right. He’d made a similar breakfast to what they’d usually have, but he swore the coffee was more bitter than usual and that the food burned at the back of his throat.

Luckily for Phil’s sake, his distraction in the form of his good friend Alex arrived at his door shortly after noon, with a loud knock and a “hey, it’s Alex!” from behind the door.

Phil was more than glad to invite her in, even if he wasn’t necessarily at his best. He’d thrown on a shirt that smelled clean enough - a mix of air freshener and Dan’s cologne, and made sure he was looking presentable, but he was certainly still rough around the edges.

“Dan’s not in, then?” asked Alex,who had settled on the couch.

Phil shakes his head in response, figuring he could at least try to be hospitable. He makes his way around the kitchen, emerging with two steaming mugs of tea. One, he keeps for himself and the other he hands to Alex, settling himself on the couch as well.

With all the stress of finals, it’s lovely to be able to catch up with a friend, really. His mind is so clouded with constant thoughts of  _ Dan, finals, Dan, graduation, Dan, getting a job, Dan, Dan, Dan. _ Alex, however, provided a nice enough distraction.

Phil sat facing his friend, the two sharing stories of their recent finals, of their daily lives, and of their plans once finals were over. For the most part, save for the talk of finals they hadn’t yet completed, it was lighthearted, but after some time, she turns towards Phil, her expression softening. He could practically tell what was coming.

“Have you spoken to Dan?” she inquires, one eyebrow arched, and continues: “I think it’s absolutely plain to see he’s into you. How could he not be?” 

Phil can’t force himself to meet her gaze, taking such a large sip from his mug that it’s almost painful. “Dunno,” he offers almost silently. Alex seems positively convinced that Dan has feelings for Phil, despite Phil having convinced himself that that’s certainly not the case.

She gives him this look, not disappointment, but close, and shakes her head. “There’s no way he’d say no, that’s all I’m-”

“It’s enough,” Phil cut her off, shaking his head. “God forbid he even did, which he  _ doesn’t _ , I’m graduating next year. How would that even work?”

He has a point, of course. With their age difference, it’s unlikely this could work. Phil’s still trying to work out a post university job, let alone his living situation. Maybe Dan won’t even want to live with him next year, or maybe he won’t be able to get a job in town. There are a multitude of reasons for him not to act on any of his feelings towards Dan, and very few that point to it being a smart idea. Nonetheless, he can’t help but entertain the idea in the privacy of his own mind. Maybe if he’d asked Dan, he’d say yes. Maybe they’d spend mornings in the kitchen together - Dan would be at the stove and Phil could come up and wrap his arms around him. Dan might come home and greet Phil with a kiss, eager to tell how his day had gone. They’d go to bed in each other’s arms and wake up the same way. It was a lovely thought, but it was just that: a thought. 

Thankfully, for Phil’s own sanity, Alex seemed to understand that he doesn’t want to take the conversation any further, since he definitely does not.

She puts her hands up as if to say she’s done before reaching for her mug.

Phil really can’t help but entertain the thought, like if one day he actually asked Dan out and he said yes. He couldn’t, in any universe, imagine that happening, but it was a lovely thought to entertain. He’s lost in his thoughts until he notices Alex turn her head, looking at him almost as if he’s got two heads.

“I’ve got to get going,” she finally says, sighing. Phil should feel bad, realistically. He’s hardly been able to give her his attention, try as he might. It’s not something he can help. He sees the universe in Dan. He sees an endless realm of possibilities in Dan, and each day they spend together is better than the last. Dan is so intricately woven into Phil’s life (he’d even gone to his exams that morning with Phil’s university sweatshirt to keep him warm). It was so  _ easy  _ to be them, living out this so carefully built life.

It was the way that each knew exactly how the other liked their tea, or the fact that Phil could practically tell how Dan’s day had gone based on his body language alone. The two mirror each other in their words, their actions, and their lives. They were beyond best friends at this point, plain to see to anyone.

* * *

 

“That was pure hell,” is the first thing Dan says, dropping his bag at the door. “University isn’t worth it. I mean it.”

Phil looks up over the top of his framed glasses, one eyebrow raised, and asks “suppose it didn’t go well, then.” He’s just met with a quiet whine as Dan lets himself sink into the couch, still wrapped up in the comfort of Phil’s sweatshirt.

“I’ve made dinner and tidied a bit,” Phil offers, as if that’ll help. “Can I do anything else to help?”

Dan waves his hand halfheartedly, yawning. “Just wanna be done,” he says. It’s a sentiment Phil easily understands, but luckily for Dan, he’s only got one final left. Once he’s done that, the two of them are officially off the hook for the next few weeks.

It’s a busy time of year. They’ve got to decorate the apartment, go shopping for presents (Phil’s got Dans, but he’s lacking in terms of his parents and his brother), and for Christmas, they’re both going to go back to Phil’s. It’s the first year since they’ve been friends that that’s happening, and Phil would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous in the slightest.

Dan could have easily chosen to be with his own family for Christmas, but for some reason, he’s chosen to go back. He’s chosen, by his own accord, to stay with Phil and his family.

Phil doesn’t know where on earth he gets this idea, but he suddenly asks “would you want to go into town soon?” before realizing that perhaps that was a bit abrupt. “I mean, I know you need presents for your family, and I do too. We could go down to get lunch and see the lights and the shops and all the displays and-” he continues, watching Dan’s face twist into that smile he knows so well.

Little wrinkles form at the corners of Dan’s eyes and he nods excitedly, saying “Phil, Phil, that sounds like a lovely idea.” He pauses, leans back in the chair, and says “I’d love that, actually.”

The confirmation that Dan loves his idea is enough to make Phil’s heart soar. “It’s a date, then,” he confirms, stretching his arms above his head. Part of him is just giddy with excitement, and the other half is excited to text Alex and let her know he’s actually set up a proper date.

He does just that as Dan’s headed off to the fridge to grab dinner, which is leftover Chinese from the night before. He hums an unrecognizable song to himself as he makes his way around the kitchen, and despite the snowfall outside of their window, Phil swears he’s never felt so warm.

“So we could like, make a proper day of it,” Dan says, his voice low and drawling. He’s exhausted from his exams, rightfully so. University isn’t easy by any means, but  a law degree is particularly hard to obtain. Phil’s consoled him through many tearful nights, convinced him more times than one that he needs to push on, that it won’t last forever.

"I'm well starving," the younger boy groans, piling his plate high with cold lo mein. "Have you eaten yet?"

Phil shakes his head in lieu of a proper response; he almost always waits for Dan to come home to eat. He'd been hungry, of course, but he'd sated himself by having a cup of tea earlier in the afternoon.

This is a lovely routine, one they're both incredibly comfortable with. Dan comes home from class, or Phil does from class or work and they have dinner, listening to whichever songs they happen to like at the moment (lately, it's been Vampire Weekend, but today Dan selects Muse, which is always a favorite), and just enjoy one another.

Today's no exception, and they're soon curled back up on the couch with the addition of two plates piled high with reheated Chinese food. Wall-e is playing in the background, but Phil certainly isn't paying it any mind and he can't imagine Dan cares much, either.

"How's Saturday?" Dan asks later, breaking the silence. "You know, for going into town?"

Dan's last final is Thursday and Phil usually does work Saturdays, but he's managed to get this one off.

"Saturday is great!" he decides. That gives him, after a moment to think, four days to plan their day out (and four days to agonize over every possible detail, but he'll save that for later).

Frankly, he can't even bring himself to think about their day right now. All he can think about is Dan, the way he's hyper aware of how his chest rises and falls, the lingering scent of cologne and mint and warmth - he’s always been so warm, and how his lips are parted ever so slightly as he looks towards the movie, completely oblivious to his best friend's admiration of him.

He doesn't love Dan, though. He can't. Not like that, not in that way. He can love Dan like a friend, love the way he comes home after a long day to watch Game of Thrones together, or the way he always finds Phil if they go out to parties, but not in the way he has been lately. There's too much riding on this, too much for him to lose.

Dan, Phil swears, is the best thing that's ever happened to him. Living here in this flat with his best friend, someone who's so similar yet so wildly different to him is the best case scenario. He's never had to worry about not getting along with his roommate, and even his family loves Dan. This dynamic they have is too perfect for Phil to shatter, no matter how much he'd like to.

So he bites his tongue. He bites his tongue and he holds back and plays absently with the frayed strings on his sweatshirt, tries to make himself push these emotions far, far down inside of him.

* * *

 

If Dan’s never been one to drink much, Phil certainly hasn’t, but some things just call for celebration; in their book, Dan finishing finals is certainly one of those.

“Another?” Dan asks, gesturing to the open and half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table. It’s a pleasant feeling, it’s warmth in the pit of his stomach and a blush rising up his chest and onto his cheeks, and it’s fondness for Phil, who nods and holds out his glass. Maybe Dan’s not exactly sober, but he’s not properly drunk just yet, and he pours out a generous glass for Phil and then for himself, giving cheers to finally being done with finals. (“For this term” Phil had reminded him, before he’d quickly been shushed.)

Dan wrestles with his thoughts for a moment before he grins, saying “tomorrow’s the day, isn’t it?”

And for some reason, perhaps the wine mingling in his bloodstream or perhaps it’s the absolute love he has for Dan, it makes his heart soar that his best friend has remembered their plans. He’s been looking forward to them, at least in his subconscious, and that means more to Phil than he can explain.

“Sure is,” he agrees proudly. Of course they're no strangers to going out together but there's something about what's gone into this that makes it extra special to Phil; he's carefully planned out all the details days in advance, taken the time to agonize over what they're going to do and how everything is meant to work out, but he's completely confident that it's going to be worth it ten fold.

"It'll be so much fun," Dan sighs, his words slurring together ever so slightly. They've, for the first time in a long time, lit the electric fireplace, and it's casting a soft golden light upon Dan, illuminating his frame. He's sat against the pillows of their couch, talking excitedly about everything, as if every single topic of conversation is the best, like the absolute center of the world.

That's the thing with Dan, is that everything is important to him. He's so passionate about everyone, about everything, and for all the time Phil's spent around him (a lot of time, for the record), he can't think of one time he's felt unwanted.

Maybe, he tells himself, some of Dan's words are just meaningless, fueled by the wine and the bubbly feeling in the pit of his stomach, but the words have to come from somewhere, and when he grins, looking over at Phil, and tells him "you're the best friend I've ever had," Phil swears he can feel, physically feel his heart swelling and bursting in his chest.

Phil sighs deeply, excuses himself after a quick moment to slip off to the kitchen. He loves Dan, as much as he won't admit it. And he can't catch a break, absolutely fucking can't catch a break. 

They're here, so together, so intertwined into each other's everything, that Phil can never get away from it. Even if he could, he's not sure he'd want to, but he's constantly reminded of how present and how there Dan is. Even now, he can hear his fingers tapping away to some made up song, hear his soft little hums, and once again, he's reminded how there Dan is.

He can't hide forever, though, and after a drink of water and a moment to compose himself, he's back in the lounge where Dan, bless himl, seems to be dozing off. He’s always been inclined to sleep well after drinking, but he’s curled in such an uncomfortable position that Phil has to wake him up.

“Dan?” he asks softly, a groan in reply. “Hi, Dan, hey, do you think you wanna try to sleep?”

“I was,” Dan mumbles, actually having a fair point.

“In your own bed, maybe?”

“Or in yours,” he says, eyes closing once more.

Phil sighs, watches his head nod off to the side.

“Dan,” he persists, shaking his head. “C’mon, to bed with you.”

“I’m  _ comfortable _ ,” Dan whines in reply.

“But you won’t be in the morning. C’mon, just move down the hallway to-”

“Your bed?” he cuts in, gazing up through wide eyes. 

Phil almost protests, but Dan looks so small and so tired this way, so he relents, agreeing that Dan can have his bed for the night. Perhaps, if he was in a different place, he’d suck it up and join him, but with everything that’s been happening, Phil pegs himself down for a long night on the couch.

Dan had been able to settle himself in bed, practically swallowed whole by Phil’s baggy university hoodie, and had whined for Phil to come join him once he’d turned to go.

“I’ve got to clean up,” he says truthfully. “I’ll be back though,” he adds, which isn’t exactly true. Dan wouldn’t bother asking tomorrow, and on the off chance he did ask, Phil would just tell him he’d happened to fall asleep on the couch; it’s believable at best.

He occupies himself, putting the mostly empty bottle and the glasses away, turning off the fireplace and the tv, and after that, he feels absolutely, entirely exhausted down to his bones, settling down on the couch for the night. It’s comfortable, definitely, but it would be infinitely better to fall asleep next to Dan, no doubt about it.

He stays awake for what’s maybe twenty minutes, maybe two hours (he isn’t sure, can’t even guess) before he begins to doze off, comforted by the fact that, as he can still see the light of the moon, it must not be  _ too  _ late.

* * *

 

It’s well freezing in the middle of London, and they’ve barely even left the train station before Dan says that they’ve got to stop and get something to drink 'before he freezes'.

Phil laughs and says he’s being a bit overdramatic, but Dan holds his own and soon they’re ducking into a Starbucks. There’s not much around besides it, and Phil reasons that they can sit by the window and watch the snow from a comfortable difference.

Dan orders comfortably, like every other time they’ve gotten coffee together, and orders Phil’s as well, making his heart ache at just how well Dan knows him.

He can’t help but tease “what if I didn’t want a macchiato, then?”

“Do you ever want anything else?” Dan asks, eyebrow raised. He’s got a point, Phil doesn’t often stray from his norm, and Dan knows exactly what that is in almost every single aspect.

It’s cozy in the store despite the fact that it’s actually quite busy, but they’ve decked it out as much as they can: fairy lights dangle upon the walls, the occasional glimmer from a piece of tinsel catches his eye, and they’ve got an entire menu full of flavors deemed festive enough for these next few months. Overall, it’s more than enough to get both of them excited for the upcoming holidays.

Phil can only speak for himself, and as much as Dan can claim that the holidays lose appeal as you get older, it’s easy to tell that he’s only kidding. He’s the one who made Phil go out a year ago and buy the Christmas tree for their flat, and he’s always been the one to buy the wrapping paper, and to deck the flat from head to do with boxfuls of decorations, though Phil can’t say he ever minds

The holidays feel so right with Dan by his side, and he often wonders how he ever enjoyed prior Christmases without his best friend alongside him, though that’s not exactly a concern - Dan isn’t going anywhere, and they both know it.

“Snow’s not so bad when there’s a layer of glass between us and it,” laughs Phil, gazing it out at the flakes falling from the sky.

“Snow’s lovely!” Dan defends, grinning. “You’ve got to admit it’s beautiful, and it’s even better when you can see little dog tracks in it. And-” he continues, stopping only to sip at his drink, “later today, I can throw snowballs at you.”

“Yeah, right!” Phil shoots back, laughing a bit too loud; they get a handful of dirty looks from those there to do work, but neither of them really notice.

“Oh, I’ll get you when you least expect it,” Dan promises, though it’s all only lighthearted.

Phil doesn’t answer, but when he takes his cup away, he’s broken into a grin, just so absolutely content.

And though he’d be perfectly fine to spend their whole day in this little window at the coffee shop, they’ve got places to go, presents to buy, and they’re both finishing up their coffee.

“I haven’t got like, the slightest clue what to get for Adrian,” Dan admits, brushing a few stray snowflakes away from his hair. “I don’t even know, what do fourteen year olds like?” he asks, as if Phil would know.

“Oh, you’ll find something just fine, I know you will. You’re excellent at picking gifts.”

“I’m not, not really anything special.” Dan shrugs, though he gestures to a shop; it’s certainly not either of their taste, but he thinks he or Phil, or, if they’re lucky, both of them, might find gifts appropriate for their mums here.

He’s right; after wandering around, and with the assistance of a salesperson they both leave with gifts, heading onward to the next shop, where Dan vows to find an appropriate gift for his brother.

All in all, by the end of the day, both are completely worn out. Their arms are weighed down with gifts for family and friends, their cheeks are pink from the frigid air, and they’re both beyond ready to get home.

They didn’t even go down and see the Christmas lights, but Phil thinks he can use that as an excuse for them to go back into town. Despite the exhaustion they’re both feeling, he’s on top of the world.

Dan leans against the pole at the bus stop, sighs for a moment, and looks back up at Phil through eyes that look just slightly glassy. “Thank you,” he says, setting his shopping bags down on the bench. “Thanks for such a good day, I mean. I think I really needed it.”

Phil steps forward, feeling his bags swing against him as he does. “Trust me, it was no problem,” he agrees. 

He practically can’t help it, the way he leans into Dan. The snow is falling behind and around them, and the streetlights flood his eyes. Phil doesn’t want to, but he can’t help how close they’re becoming. That is, until Dan steps away, picks up his bags, says, “bus is here, c’mon then!” He doesn’t even seem to  _ notice  _ that anything might be amiss, though Phil’s trying hard to convince himself it isn’t.

He distances himself slightly on the bus, doesn’t let their knees touch the way they normally do, just keeps his eyes locked on his feet until the bus lurches to a halt a block away from their apartment.

Nothing’s wrong, he tells himself. Dan didn’t even notice a thing, it seems, by the way he’s acting. He offers Phil tea when they’re back in the flat and settles into the sofa, letting his speakers play a band that sounds somewhere between The Maine and Alt-J, which, strange as it sounds, is actually quite pleasant. 

“I think I’m-” Phil breaks off, stepping out of his shoes, “uh, gonna go try to find somewhere to keep these presents. Pretty tired, though, so I think I’ll just sleep. Night, then.”

“Sleep well!” is all Dan says, though he looks up with a smile as he does. The sentiment is returned and Phil plods down the hallway, suddenly feeling significantly more downtrodden than he did just an hour ago.

He stands at the sink too long to wash his face and brush his teeth, doesn’t shower like he normally does. It’s warm in the apartment, but he slips into his hoodie which smells like Dan and hugs him comfortably.

He doesn’t even pay mind to who they are, but lets one of apple music’s recommendations play from his phone as he tries to sleep, hearing the occasional noise from the lounge. He chalks it up to either Dan getting to bed, or Dan opening up some video he’s come across, but either way, he can’t say he minds much.

It takes him much shorter than anticipated to fall asleep, despite the fact that he swears his heart is still racing and despite the anxiety he feels swallowing him whole, consuming him and clouding over any positive memories of the day he’s just had.

He does his best to make things normal, though. It’s not too terribly hard after that night; Dan’s not at all bothered, so Phil tries not to let himself be. They still make breakfast together, Phil still leaves food for Dan when he goes off to work, still comes home after long shifts to settle down and watch a film together. Things gradually become more and more comfortable, for which he’s immensely thankful.

* * *

Phil doesn’t even know how long Dan’s been begging to have the Christmas tree put up, really, but the consecutive Friday and Saturday he’s managed to take off of work present the perfect opportunity to get the both of them ready for the holidays.

It started out simple; over tea Dan had mentioned how they’d never even gone down to see the Christmas lights, and how he’d absolutely love to before they visit Phil’s family, and only snowballed from there.

From a small suggestion, they’ve arrived to their Friday afternoon plans of decorating the flat, Dan promising to go all out this year. Taking no less than half a dozen boxes full of decorations down two flights of stairs isn’t the easiest, nor the most fun activity, but the excited look on Dan’s face is more than enough for Phil to decide it was worth it.

Just as the largest box containing their tree is set down, he becomes all too aware of the absence of his flatmate, setting the box down before he heading into the hallway, all the while calling out Dan’s name.

A half muffled “just a second!” is heard from Dan’s bedroom, and the younger boy soon emerges with two Christmas jumpers in hand and a proud smile plastered on his face. If it had been anyone else, Phil might not have agreed, but the excited look on Dan’s face was enough to make him reach for one of the jumpers.

“We’ve got to be proper festive,” Dan explains, tugging his own jumper over his shoulders. “You can’t decorate for Christmas without the ugly jumpers, not really.”

“Of course,” Phil agrees, looking down at his own outfit. It’s a tight-knit sweater with a tree proudly displayed on the middle. All sorts of pom poms and glitter adorn the green yarn, and it’s practically so hideous it’s funny, he thinks.

Both proudly wearing their sweaters, the boys head out towards the lounge where an impressive amount of boxes await them. Some are labeled, but most of them aren’t, so what might be inside will be a fun surprise for both of them.

The first box, opened by Dan, mostly contains hanging decorations: tinsel and fairy lights, which he says are some of the best decorations. Phil quickly gets to work setting them up along their walls, even along the top of the fireplace. He teases Dan, saying he can take care of the high decorations; the extra half inch he’s got on Dan really gives him that extra edge.

Normally Dan would protest, do it himself, but everything is seemingly  _ so perfect  _ that he won’t bother, even jokingly so. Their flat is taking shape quite easily as boxes are unpacked and gradually stacked to be put away, though it’s just passing eight o’clock when Dan groans and declares that he’s absolutely starving. They don’t dwell on it for long before deciding to order a pizza to share, coming to a mutual decision that it’s time for a break.

They’re not generally inclined to light candles, but they’re not really inclined to watch ‘A Christmas Story’ either, and yet they’re here doing both. Phil can’t say he’s paying much attention to the movie in front of them, though. He excuses himself not long after so that they can both have hot cocoa along with dinner, and as he stands at the fridge, he can’t help but grin and feel so absolutely and completely content.

His best friend lets the corner of his mouth turn up into a smile at something happening on screen, and God, he just looks so warm and content and happy. He's home, to Phil. He's the definition of home; Phil could be wherever, doing whatever, but as long as he's got Dan he's got a unique sense of content, of belonging.

It's a plus, having this incredible apartment. It's a plus to decorate for various holidays. It's a plus to always come home to your best friend, everything they’ve so carefully built up over the past two years is incredible. They're both so incredibly happy, though a little more so when Dan returns with the pizza box in hand, consequently pulling Phil from his thoughts.

“I'm well starving,” he groans. He swears up and down that this is the best pizza he's ever had, though they both suspect that it's largely in part due to the appetite they've both worked up while decorating.

They eat, rushing nothing and enjoying everything until they're both comfortably full and the credits are rolling, and Phil doesn't think he's ever loved another person so wholly.

He’d be content to sit and admire the fire, thinks he could fall asleep just this way; Dan leaning ever so slightly into his side, smelling of love and cinnamon and cologne and warmth and God, Phil’s never felt so at home. He’s over 200 miles, a 3 hour long train ride from the place that was ‘home’ for his first eighteen years, but this is his home. Dan is his home. He’s far more than a best friend; he’s a safe haven for Phil, he’s love and light and the representation of everything good and right and real in the world, and Phil doesn’t think he could quite put into words what Dan’s done for him.

He sighs, just feeling something warm and radiant and glowing inside of him and lets himself soften against Dan’s thin frame, realising that perhaps he’s more far gone than he’d been originally willing to admit.

“It’s 11:16,” Dan points out. “Christmas tree’s still half up, do you wanna get on that?” Phil doesn’t, not really, (he’d rather stay here together, forever), but he doesn’t have the heart to say it, so he nods and stands, grabbing the plastic container that houses their ornaments eleven months out of the year. The tree is up but just barely, the branches yet to be spread and the lights yet to be strung up.

They’ve made quite the collection of ornaments and general clutter over the year and a half they’ve been living in this flat, and unpacking the decorations is throwing Phil headfirst into nostalgia, recalling the way their shared flat had slowly filled up with  _ things  _ to perfectly describe their personalities.

Even the ornaments are a strange mix of sentimental pieces, generic ones bought for them by parents, and the few they’d bought to commemorate their interests; different shows, movies, and games they both liked to play. By the time they’ve finished and Phil’s putting the star on top, they’re both entirely ready for bed, leaving out a half eaten pizza and four or five open boxes in their wake.

Neither of them mind the mess; in fact they both contribute the next morning, leaving towels from early showers to be cleaned up at some later date in the future. Their flat isn’t messy, not really, but it’s definitely lived in. They bid it goodbye for the day after double and triple checking the lock, heading out to brave the cold and the snow once more. 

“I woudn’t go out in four degree weather for almost anyone,” Phil points out as they step into the street.

“But you’d do it for me,” Dan says, beaming.

“I’d do it for you.”

Phil loves their lives. Loves how intertwined they are. He loves the way Dan’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles like he is just now. He loves the way he always walks just a step behind Phil, or how he always knows what Phil wants long before he does. He loves waking up the wafting smell of coffee or waffles; alternatively he loves hearing Dan’s low, slow breaths from behind his bedroom door if he’s the first to wake.

Fuck, he’s in deep.

He suggests that they pop into a restaurant for breakfast - the cold is biting at their nose and cheeks (but the warmth he has for Dan laps at him, envelopes him, spills out into his whole world and his whole being) and they’ve both grown hungry.

It’s the first place they see, but it’s cozy.  A fireplace glows bright in the entrance and in lieu of proper chairs, bean bags surround tables. It’s not overly crowded but there’s enough ambient noise to create a pleasant buzz and make the place seem inviting as a whole.

They order, a cappuccino and cinnamon pancakes for Dan, a latte and strawberry french toast for Phil. The warmth of the drink fogs up Phil’s glasses. When he’s not looking, Dan steals a bite of his breakfast out from under him, causing the older of the two to swipe his hand away playfully.

“We should come back here sometime, maybe not next time but definitely soon,” Dan says once his breakfast is half gone and the chill down to his bones has dissipated.

Phil swears he can feel his heart soar when Dan mentions next time, which has, after two years, never lost its thrill; he hopes it’s always that way.

“Absolutely,” he agrees. “It’s great here, negating the fact that I feel like I’m about to burst at the seams.” 

They’ve both eaten to the point of being uncomfortably full, though it isn’t really a complaint, and Dan’s quick to pull the check to his side of the table.

“Hey!” Phil protests, trying to make a quick grab. “I can get that for you.”

“Next time,” Dan practically sings, handing the money to the waiter.

Phil definitely can’t argue with that.

The best part about London, if you ask Phil, is that there are always new things to do. They’ve got so many shops that neither of them know what to do with themselves, though they’d go in even if only to escape the bitter cold.

“Phil, look!” Dan calls, waving his best friend over towards a neatly organized display of movies. “Look, we don’t have Howl’s Moving Castle on DVD yet. We should get it.”

They don’t need it, don’t need anything, really, but Phil can’t resist. Dan’s cheeks are wind burnt and slightly pink and he just looks so hopeful as he holds up the DVD. So, despite Phil’s original proclamation of “we’ll look but we won’t buy,” he finds himself walking up towards the registers to purchase the movie. After all, it gives them a perfect opportunity for a late night activity.

He makes Dan promise they won’t do this at every shop, as there isn’t much they need, and they shockingly stick to it (save for two jumpers that Dan just couldn’t live without and a gift for Phil’s sister-in-law, Cornelia). He swears they must have visited every shop down Oxford Street; it’s a bit of an exaggeration, of course, but they’ve visited at least a dozen, admiring the Christmas displays and the stores as a whole.

It’s 5:58 and the sky has gone this shade of strange red-brown as flakes tumble lazily down to the ground, and Dan points out that they haven’t seen many lights quite yet. He’s only teasing, of course, but Phil takes that as more of a challenge.

They clumsily make their way through London, past all the busy people in town - no doubt last minute Christmas shopping - and past houses and storefronts until they come across a park and Phil gives a triumphant “I  _ told you  _ I would find you lights!”

In reality, it’s slightly underwhelming. The trees, long since rid of their leaves, have white lights strung across branches and a wooden gazebo stands freely in the center of the park. That’s the prettiest part, Phil thinks. It’s lightly dusted in snow and strung with red and blue lights, emitting a soft purple glow on the ground.

They don’t dwell for long before Dan whines that he’s getting cold and admits that really, he’d like to go home and watch a movie together. He half teases that they’ve got their own lights anyway, which, to be fair, is absolutely true.

They make their way through town, leaving behind two sets of footprints in the newly fallen snow, and only stop once for coffee.

Phil’s cold down to his very core despite being dressed for the weather, but there’s only a handful of minutes until the bus arrives and the drink is slowly warming him from the inside out.

He distracts himself with Dan, mostly, letting his best friend talk. His hair, wet from the snow (and his blatant refusal to wear a hat) is curling up at the nape of his neck and his eyes are liquid, Phil swears they’re liquid and they’re looking at him with all of the love and all of the purity that’s in the world, he swears it.

He wants to tell Dan all this; he wants to tell him that he sees universes in him, that he smells like warm and cinnamon and he looks like love and he feels like home, wants to tell him that he’s so entangled in Phil’s life that the older boy thought it would literally break his heart in two to ever have to be without him.

But he doesn’t know how, he doesn’t know how to tell Dan all this. He doesn’t know how to tell him that he loves the ease of their lives, loves the way they know each other better than themselves, loves the way they are not two people who happen to live together, but are so much more than this. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know, not with words. He can’t express himself through words, so there’s got to be another way, he thinks.

Deja vu hits him like a train, pummeling him straight in the chest and making him breathe in quick and deep before letting it go. Everything is trying to hold him back, everything in the universe is screaming not to, telling, begging him not to do this, but he ignores that as if it’s the easiest thing he’s done and lets his lips press against Dan’s.

It’s like everything he’s expected; soft and warm and sweet, (Dan’s lips taste faintly of old cherry chapstick) until it isn’t anymore. Until Dan recoils, taking three steps back and letting something between panic and sadness settle onto his face, darkening his features.

Phil drops his drink. The coffee spills over everything, going into a million different directions, and so does he. 

“You-” Dan stammers, letting the words tumble clumsily out of his mouth before shaking his head. Phil can tell he doesn’t know what to say, though that only makes two of them.

"I shouldn't have," Phil says, quiet.

There’s a certain tension in the air and he knows its his fault and god, he wishes somebody would come to the bus stop so that they can sit and pretend that he didn’t just try to kiss his best friend.

His fucking best friend.

“You shouldn’t have,” Dan agrees, voice teetering on the edge. “Not like, you know?”

Phil doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything, he thinks. He doesn’t know how their day could go from so completely and utterly perfect to Dan standing back against the glass at the bus stop, kicking the snow with the heel of his boot.

“Dan,” Phil pleads.

Nothing.

“ _ Dan _ ,” he presses. “It was a mistake, I know. I’m sorry!”

The bus pulls up to the stop and Phil swears the headlights are blinding. He steps aside, letting Dan go in front.

He doesn’t, though, stays stoic and unmoving.

“I’m not going to get on,” he says weakly, fingers fumbling inside of his pocket until he produces his phone. “I’m going to, uh, I’m going to call Peej?” he phrases it like more of a question, but it isn’t really. “Don’t wait up. Please, don’t wait up.” His voice has softened but he’s still on edge, his frame sharp and strong.

Phil nods, knowing that if he speaks the lump in the back of his throat is sure to become apparent, and steps forward onto the bus, which pulls away.

He doesn’t tear his eyes away until Dan’s little more than a speck in the distance, only stares at his feet until he hears their (no, his) stop announced. Everything feels eerily empty, and despite the fact that four people get off with him, he’s never felt so alone. The stairs up to their flat are like a never ending mountain and he doesn’t even think he’s breathing by the time he gets to the top.

It’s the way they left it, pizza box open on the table and towels on the floor, mugs half empty on the counters, but the task of cleaning it seems monumental considering he hardly has the energy to drag himself from the entrance into the lounge.

If he could muster up any amount of strength or energy, he could channel it somewhere: into cleaning or making dinner, which is productive at least, but he doesn’t think he wants to do either of those things. So, he simply doesn’t.

Time passes, he thinks; the night turns to dusk and then pitch black and eventually morning, but beyond that, his perception is completely off. He’s moved around slightly, of course; paced down the hallway, sat at the couch letting his leg bounce up and down, but no significant movement.

It’s not even the rejection that bothers him the most -- Dan’s fully allowed to do that, even though Phil doesn’t understand it. Not having Dan here is unpleasant at best. He doesn’t care for the silent flat, doesn’t care for the empty pizza boxes left on the coffee table.

He’s sure Dan’s at PJ’s by now, but he doesn’t ask. It feels innapropriate, somehow.

He hates that, hates that all because of  _ one thing  _ he’d tried to do, things are crumbling around him (that’s what it feels like, anyway). Realistically, Dan probably just needed time to calm down and be alone, which is perfectly reasonable, but Phil can’t help taking everything extra personally. It’s only human, but he wishes that perhaps, he could feel a little less guilt for the turn their night took.

Time passes, he thinks, but he wouldn’t bet money on it. He’s in a strange state between asleep and awake for most of the time he’s in the apartment, which, incidentally, is for the three days following their night in town.

He’d been so sure Dan would come home to go to his for Christmas though, and when he’s not there on Thursday morning, Phil swears he feels his heart shatter in no less than fifteen places, leaving him in for an incredibly lonely train ride to Rawtenstall, and a still empty feeling in his gut when he sees the way that Martyn and Cornelia are so, so, painfully in love.

He does his best to keep himself occupied; his parents are so happy to see him, as is the usual. He doesn’t come home often, so whenever he  _ does _ , and whenever his brother does,  the two are overjoyed to see them.

It provides enough of a distraction for the night, for Phil to be concerned with telling his parents about what he’s been up to since he’s last been home. It’s comforting, almost.

And for that night, even just for a few hours, he doesn’t think of Dan. It's just what he needs, just time to mull over everything, to try and process everything that has happened.

* * *

His facade crumbles when he’s back in his childhood bedroom, though. Everything is too much or too loud or too overwhelming, and Dan’s the sort of comforting presence he’s always had.

His fingers quickly tap out a message, hit send before he can second guess it.

**to: dan <3**

hope you had a good christmas, wherever you wound up

* * *

 

Dan returns four days after Phil’s been home from his parents, slightly shaky and definitely a bit quieter than before. He doesn’t seem angry or sad, doesn’t seem inherently negative towards Phil, which is a good thing -- but he’s built up this sort of facade, sits in the lounge, silent; he eats when Phil’s tucked away in his room. The two pass each other wordlessly.

Phil comes to the realization, the following evening, that he’s so upset because being rejected by someone he cares so deeply for is  _ humiliating.  _

Humiliation is far worse than simple embarrassment. There is a clear point which distinguishes the two; embarrassment is inward -- while a particular situation may embarrass him, he can direct that feeling inward (that is, nobody feels the embarrassment alongside him.) where as humiliation is triangular. Not only do he and Dan feel it, but those who had witnessed it -- the bystanders at the bus stop -- witnessed the situation. Humiliation, Phil notes, exists in at least three people.

He doesn’t mean to intrude on Dan, honestly. He’d thought that at this hour of the morning (7:56, his phone had said), Dan would be asleep, certainly wouldn’t be in their lounge on the phone.

He’s small, so delicate and small; his back is to Phil and he’s got a blanket over his shoulders, head tipped forward and phone pressed flush against his ear. And God, Phil wishes for a moment that is much more than fleeting, that he could step in and wrap his arms around Dan. He’s got this vulnerability about him in the way he speaks, something Phil can’t quite place. His voice has gone a bit wobbly and soft, and Phil takes a quick, sharp breath inward.

“Things aren’t  _ bad _ ,” Dan sniffles to the person on the other end. “But things aren’t good. It’s like, we’re constantly--” he breaks off, wipes at his nose. “Like, God, we’re avoiding each other, like, all the time. I don’t know, I don’t…”

Suddenly, the breakfast that Phil had come out to get seems incredibly unappetizing; he can’t listen to this any more, can’t pretend it doesn’t affect him. Rather than saying  _ something _ , he turns silently and heads down the hall to his bedroom. His stomach growls as he settles on his bed, but he doesn’t think he even has the energy to get up and get something.

He can’t dwell-- or he shouldn’t, so he decides that his time would be better spent elsewhere. Studying is out of the question, since they’re on winter break. He’s not going to do anything in the lounge, not with Dan out there, so he’ll spend his time tidying up his room.

After all, it’s almost exactly as he’d left it when he went to his parents’. Laundry hamper’s piled up with clothes, laptop is exactly on the bed where he’d left it, his ceiling fan spins around and around, providing him with soothing ambient noise.

He gets to work, like a whirlwind around his room. He takes up the sheets, picks up some of the clothes that litter the floor, even unpacks from his suitcase. He’ll need to do laundry, but he’s exhausted after the apparent hour and a half that had passed.

He collapses on his bed, sighing. The hour and a half that has passed since his cleaning frenzy is enough to have thoroughly worn him out even if he’d felt one hundred percent good at the start.

He thinks that if he really concentrates, he can hear a movie playing in the lounge (he listens a moment longer before deciding it’s definitely Kiki’s Delivery Service). That makes his heart pang somewhere deep down; they’d had  _ plans  _ to watch that over the holidays together, but that must be out the window, now.

He’s not in the mood to pick a fight, doesn’t really have the foundations or the means to, even if he wanted to. Dan’s allowed to watch the movie himself, it’s just disheartening that out of all the ones he could have chosen, it had to be that one.

He reaches for his phone at his bedside, quickly unplugging it from the charger, and dials a very familiar ten digits. It rings once, twice, three, and then four times. Phil almost hangs up, but midway through the fifth, he connects to PJ, who’s never  _ not  _ a help, even if his head’s often in the clouds.

“Peej,” he greets, sitting up against his bed. His eyes fall upon his table; his amber light was left on all night, shoved next to a pile of school notebooks (which, he notes, are collecting a layer of dust) and a long since abandoned potted plant. He didn’t tidy  _ that,  _ but maybe--

“Eh, Phil? You’re there?”

“Yeah, I’m--” he intones. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Right. Any reason for calling me at…” there’s shuffling on the line, and then clarity. “8:51 in the morning?”

“I mean…” Phil begins. He’s nervous, but he’s not sure  _ why _ , exactly. “Yeah, I have a reason.”

“Right. Am I guessing, or-”

Phil sighs, shrugging. Only when PJ doesn’t answer, Phil realizes that his friend can’t see him, and speaks again. “It’s Dan.”

“Right.”

“I kissed him.”

“Mhm,” his friend hums, almost distractedly. “What’s the problem with that?”

“He didn’t--” Phil gestures weakly. “He didn’t reciprocate it. Peej, he  _ went to your flat! _ ” he sighs, exasperated.

His friend gives a long, drawn out “Ye-eah, he did.”

“Peej,” he half whines, bringing his legs to cross in front of him. Sunlight’s streaming through the window and he makes a mental note to close the blinds; soon, it’ll be in his line of vision. “Are you even listening?” he asks.

Silence is on the other end, then some rustling around.

“PJ?” he asks, helpless.

“Mhm?”

“You barely heard a word I said,” he observes, shaking his head.

“Right. I’m--” he cuts off, yells something Phil can’t make out on his end. Phil winces and holds the phone a few inches from his ear. “Sorry to cut this short!” he sounds genuinely apologetic, but carries on speaking: “Just-- Chris, you know Chris, he hid my sketchbook and I need it for class and I’m going to absolutely--”

The line goes dead, Phil pushes up on his elbows and goes to draw the blinds. He squints in the sunlight, unable to make much out, really. He sighs, clenches his jaw, pulls the strings down to release the blinds, and returns to the confines of his bed, dozing off into a half-peaceful sleep.

* * *

 

He can’t help the sort of quiet bitter laugh when he realizes that he’s filled the kettle for two, set out two mugs, gotten two separate tea bags (earl grey for Dan, green for him). Dan’s nowhere to be seen, likely off in his room, and yet Phil’s standing with two steaming mugs in his hands, fogging up his glasses.

He hadn’t even realized what he was  _ doing  _ until they were both prepared, leaving him with two choices; one, he could dump the earl grey, just forget the whole thing, and two, he could offer Dan the tea. He’d either take it or reject the offer entirely, and Phil’s not sure  _ which  _ he wants.

He sets the mugs down and reaches into his left pocket, producing his phone.

 

**to: dan**

tea if you want it, in the lounge.

A minute, and then two, and almost three go by when his phone falls to the floor. It was his own fault-- he’d balanced it on the arm of their couch, and the vibration from some notification had disturbed it. Half of him doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Dan doesn’t  _ have  _ to answer. Dan doesn’t owe him anything.

As it turns out, his flatmate hasn’t responded, and when he reads the notification, he laughs dryly, sliding it to the left and opening up the game.

“Candy Crush,” he intones, shaking his head.

“Err- what?”

His head quickly snaps up from the stupid game (he wasn’t going to win, anyway) to the source of the voice. Dan, of course. It wouldn’t be anyone else.

“Is it earl grey?” he asks hopefully.

“Two sugars,” Phil answers, fighting back the urge to invite the younger boy to sit.

Instead, his flatmate nods curtly, takes the tea, and departs back to his bedroom, door squealing as he shuts it.

**to: peej ^_^**

**i tried to coax him out. made tea**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**success?**

 

**to: peej ^_^**

**well, he took the tea and went back to his room.**

 

**to: peej ^_^**

**so not exactly a success.**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**and you just let him?**

**from: peej ^_^**

**c’mooooooooon. you gotta** **_try_ ** **!**

 

**to: peej ^_^**

**-.- i tried!! hence the tea**

 

**to: peej ^_^**

**now *you* c’mon**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**you’re blind**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**both literally and figuratively**

 

**to: peej ^_^**

**???**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**you’ll be fine. i have class now, anyway.**

 

**from: peej ^_^**

**talk to him!! you won’t regret it.**

 

Phil huffs at that, settling back into the couch cushions. Tea sloshes up out the side of his cup

and spills onto his hand, and he lets out a sharp breath, the skin underneath the scalding drink a bit pink and raw. On another day, he might get up and tend to it, put it under cold running water, but he doesn’t bother with it. 

He’s trying hard not to overthink PJ’s texts earlier, but it’s infinitely easier said than done. Granted, he didn’t want to ruin their friendship over a simple kiss, but he could only speak for himself. Things would only get better if  _ Dan  _ wanted them to; it simply wasn’t in his control

The nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that he does have a bit more control than he’s accounting for, but he prefers not to accept that; it’s easier, somehow.

* * *

 

Silence, Phil decides, is the worst sound. He loves plenty of sounds: loves birds chirping (loves them a little less early in the morning, even so), loves the sound of Dan’s laughs, the kind where his eyes crinkle and he acts like what he’s laughing at is the  _ best _ thing he’s ever heard. He loves the buzzing in your ears you get after a concert, loves a million other sounds.

He loves Dan’s voice, more than anything. He loves how it’s a bit groggy and quiet in the morning, how it goes a bit tinny and scratchy when he’s sick. He  _ loves  _ hearing Dan say his name, doesn’t think he’s ever felt so warm as he does it when Dan calls to him in his soft, affectionate voice. There’s nothing that makes him quite so weak in the knees of that.

Yes, the silence is killing him. He does have things to fill that silence; music or movies or phone calls to friends, but nothing’s quite the same, nothing’s really enough for him. He can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for Dan.

He’s listening to the busy  _ clackclackclack  _ on the keyboard of his laptop, having forced himself to sit and work on some school papers. He only half comprehends what he’s working on, even, but it’s more progress than he’s made on other assignments, so he sticks with it.

He’s in the lounge, anyway, a nice change of pace from his bedroom. The whole purpose of being here, joined by a friend from class, is to work on a particularly difficult assignment, but Phil can hardly force himself to focus. His friend, Ben, is working diligently, and he can’t help but feel slightly guilty. He  _  knows  _ he’s not putting in his full effort, but he can’t. He  _ can’t _ .

“Dan’s not around?” his friend asks, looking up from his own computer. 

“No,” Phil lies. “He’s at the library.” (He’s in his bedroom, actually.) “Busy with school, of course.” (He’s  _ not _ .)

He’s become a bit accustomed to stretching the truth, which is unfortunate, but he doesn’t have another choice, not really. The two fall back into silence, occasionally stopping to compare notes or to clarify a particularly confusing concept; for the most part, it’s just  _ quiet. _

They work well into the afternoon, until the sky has taken on a dusty purple color and the streetlights shine bright and warm and yellow, illuminating the cobblestone outside of the block of apartments, and Ben decides he should get going. Phil can’t help but agree.

As it turns out, he’s incredibly glad that Ben’s decided to go; he’s alone in the lounge for no  more than twenty minutes before Dan emerges. Truthfully, he’s a bit tired looking, rough around the edges, but Phil’s heart still swells at the sight of him.

“I’m just getting dinner,” he says dismissively, disappearing into the kitchen. He’s silent as he prepares dinner, moving effortlessly in the kitchen. He very nearly goes down the hallway back to his room, but leans against the doorway instead, bowl in hand.

“There’s leftovers if you want them,” he offers, a bit shyly. It’s a weak peace offer, Phil almost doesn’t take it, but he nods and accepts it instead. When he comes back, Dan’s on the chair opposite him, a bit across the room but  _ there  _ still. Phil blinks, has to convince himself it’s real.

“You look out of it,” Dan remarks offhandedly, leg bouncing. 

“Guess so.”

Phil doesn’t respond, just sighs and twirls a bit of pasta around his fork. Everything is telling

him not to bring their situation up, but he doesn’t think he could help it if he wanted to.

“Are we…” he begins cautiously, sighing, “are we… things, are they okay?”

It’s a dumb question, because they’re really not, objectively, but he’d like them to be and he’d like even  _ more  _ if Dan wanted them to be. 

“I don’t know.”

“Dan--”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” the younger boy says, averting his gaze. Suddenly, the hardwood floors are of immense interest to him.

“We’ve got to. If we’re going to be okay. We’ve  _ got  _ to.” Phil’s voice wavers, but neither of them point it out. Silence hangs heavy in the air.

Dan finally speaks: “Not today. Please, not today, Phil.”

And just as soon as he sat down, he’s gone back into his bedroom, taking his dinner with him. Phil can’t help but beat himself up over it; he’d insisted on talking about it, and now he’d lost the little progress he  _ had  _ made.

* * *

 

There’s got to be  _ something  _ Phil can do, something to get Dan to say  _ something  _ to him. He’s tired of the daily routine of class or work and hiding away in bedrooms, silently eating dinner, of passing each other silently. He’s tired of silence, so tired. 

Dan, he doesn’t know if Dan’s tired of it. If he is, his roommate doesn’t show it. He passes Phil like it’s nothing, never gives him a second glance. He doesn’t leave traces of himself; washes up the dishes after he’s eaten, takes his shoes and his backpack to his bedroom, doesn’t even leave his computer in the lounge. It’s like Phil’s alone.

He’s going to have to take a stand. If he’s as tired as he says he is, he’s going to have to do  _ something  _ about it. On top of that, PJ’s likely tired of all the phone calls. There’s only so much venting Phil can do before his friend can’t really give viable suggestions. He’s been gently encouraging Phil to talk to Dan about what he’s feeling, but to no avail.

He’s going to have to.

The lounge is convenient and he works well in it, legs crossed and laptop balanced on his knee. It’s a bit of a trick, really-- Dan’s going to have to come out at some point, and he thinks that perhaps he’s ready to bring it up.

There’s no reason they  _ shouldn’t  _ talk about it. Phil’s... Tired. Tired of this passing each other like ships in the night, tired of this strained thing that they’ve become. Tired that this is his fault.

So, he waits. He cycles through two and a half cups of tea, homework for three classes, and a movie in the background before Dan emerges, not looking the least bit conversational.

“Hey,” Phil greets, as if he’s surprised to see the younger boy (He isn’t).

Dan nods, acknowledging, at least.

“Kettle’s still warm if you want it,” Phil offers. Dan, much to his surprise, takes the bait and walks off into the kitchen, accompanied by the sounds of a spoon clinking against the ceramic mug. He stills, is silent, and walks out, yawning.

“I got a lot of homework done,” Phil tells him.

“Did you?” Dan leans against the doorframe. He doesn’t look opposed to the conversation, but he seems eager to part ways.

“I did,” Phil confirms. “Three classes worth.”

Phil doesn’t beat around the bush, decides that that’s not helping  _ anyone.  _ He opens his mouth to begin the monologue he’s rehearsed no less than twenty times in the confines of his own mind.

He tosses that monologue to the side, instead, starts speaking. It’s better if it’s genuine, not thought out prior.

Dan talks instead, though, much to Phil’s surprise. He says, “I still have a lot of work to do.” And he sounds small, almost.. vulnerable. Phil can’t blame him.

“How much?” he asks.

Dan seems to rack his mind. “Two papers,” he begins, “one group project due in two days. Notes on three sections for one of my law classes.” He pauses, shakes his head. “And I’m meant to work tomorrow.”

Phil cocks his head, sympathetic, and gestures towards the couch.

Dan, for the first time in a long time, sits.

“Can I help any?” he asks, quiet. It seems almost as if all is forgotten, like they are how they had been. He knows that isn’t the case, but it’s like the promise of something more normal is on the horizon.

Dan shakes his head, seems to lean closer in to Phil. “You don’t have to,” he denies. (Phil  _ knows  _ he doesn’t have to, but he wouldn’t have offered if he minded.) And then, almost as an afterthought, Dan tacks on: “it’s not like I deserve it.”

Before Phil can even ask what that means, Dan continues. “Like, I’ve been avoiding you for _ ages _ , Phil. And you’re not… Bitter, or angry, or anything. Are you?” (He’s not; he’s past any of that, really.) And Dan laughs, just shakes his head. “Like, because of my dumb insecurity and because I’m too young, I’ve been pushing away my best friend.”

It seems funny, Phil thinks, when he puts it like that. But that’s not the first thing to come to mind. Dan’s words replay in the back of his mind. ( _ insecure too young pushing you away _ ) and Phil shakes his own head, coming back down to earth.

“Too young?” he asks, wanting an elaboration.

“I got scared. When you kissed me--” Dan doesn’t meet his eye. “Because I’m like, Dan. And I’m like, so young, and what if I couldn’t be a good boyfriend and when you graduate you’ll get a job and--” he stops himself there, lost.

“Dan,” Phil sighs, shaking his head. If he’d known that this was why, earlier, maybe it could have saved them a lot of strain, a lot of self doubt on Phil’s part, a lot of sadness on Dan’s. But it’s happened and it’s been _ weeks  _ and the two are so empty that they don’t have anything left to give but to give in.

And that’s how it happens.

Dan gives in, lets Phil help him, and neither of them  _ want  _ to do the work but it’s a little sweeter this way, a little easier, and they stay up until their eyes are bleary and the clock, if Phil’s reading it right, which he’s not sure he is, is reading 4:39 and he’s so tired, tired down to his bones, but things seem  _ okay _ . And okay is all he wanted, that’s all he needed them to be.

 

And things aren’t always okay. They’re not one hundred percent amazing all the time, but they, just like Phil observed earlier, are like the promise of okay. 

Dan’s still worn down, still sad, still hides away in his room at times, but he’ll come out and make dinner; Phil will chop up the food and Dan will sit on the counter and recount his day and it’s… Almost the way it was when they first moved in, Phil thinks.

But it’s also not, because they’ve grown a  _ lot  _ in not very long, and when they’d first moved in, Phil had expected things to be all happy all the time, but they’re  _ not  _ because Dan… is human, and because he has depth and different emotions. And even from the pedestal Phil’s placed him on, he falls and sometimes he falls  _ hard  _ but that’s a part of life, and learning to pick him back up is part of Phil’s life, because he’s sure Dan would do the same for him.

Phil helps Dan with work, learns to pick up on his cues and knows when to leave him be, and gradually, the rift, the wedge Dan had driven between them begins to lessen and lessen, and as time shifts and changes (February into January, winter into spring) so do they.

It’s lesser and lesser, the time Dan wants to spend away from Phil, but neither of them force it, and it’s this sort of mutual acknowledgement between the two of them that they don’t need to be together constantly to know that they care for one and other.

Phil almost likes this better than the way they were before. And he can’t help but wonder, really, how their relationship will grow and change from  _ here _ .

He hopes it’s for the better.

* * *

 

April isn’t the optimal time for coffee, not really, but they’ve decided to go out in any case; the weather is kind to them, warm and breezy and with an almost cloudless expanse of sky above them. It’s strangely comforting, somehow. Flowers have begun to pop up in window boxes and the streets are busier than they are in the winter time.

Things feel almost whole, again.

As they walk, Dan complains that it’s  _ too  _ warm and Phil just hushes him, says the weather is gorgeous (“and so are you”, he thinks, though he doesn’t say that.) It’s all in good fun, though, and when Phil looks over and sees the smile that’s playing at Dan’s lips, he relaxes tenfold.

It’s easy, he thinks, or easier than it had been earlier in the semester. They walk in unison, Dan’s hands shoved in his pockets and Phil’s swinging at his side.

The weather is a reflection on their mood; the night they’d last come into town before the fight it had been bitterly cold, snowfall had both of them frozen to their very cores, and Phil had been  _ shivering  _ by the time he’d gotten to the flat. Everything today is a contrast; he’s warm down to his bones, the sun shines, casts golden light above them, and Phil’s content, truly content.

The same coffee shop they’d last been to is exactly as inviting as it had been that night. Instead of colorful holiday lights, white string lights adorn the walls; in place of tinsel decorating the fireplace in the corner, there are fresh flowers. The red lettering on the chalkboards has since been replaced with blue, but it’s the same, has the same smell of cinnamon and vanilla and fresh coffee grounds, and Phil doesn’t think there would be a single more appropriate place for them to be, couldn’t think of anywhere if his life depended on it.

They settle in the corner, off to the right of the fireplace in two beanbag chairs; Dan crosses his legs and Phil tucks his under, and they’re  _ content _ , just happy and quiet and probably the most content they’ve been in weeks, maybe months.

Dan’s nose is a little bit crinkled and he leans up against the fireplace, fingertips drumming at his knees. Phil thinks he’s the luckiest person in the world to be here with Dan. They don’t really talk, even, just soak up each other’s presence until their coffee arrives, earning a mutual smile between them.

“This place is wonderful,” Phil remarks. They’ve come here more than a few times, even before this previous winter -- it’s significant to them, somehow.

Phil thinks about when they’d first stumbled upon it. It was nestled in between a bookshop and a clothing store, and they’d only come in due to a heavy rain. Dan had sort of panicked, hadn’t wanted to get his hair wet, so they’d quickly come in, chilled to the bone and soaked through multiple layers of clothes. They’d been eighteen and twenty (almost twenty one, respectively) and not roommates quite yet. 

Dan had been in his first year, Phil in his third, and they’d been on the fast track to becoming best friends. Phil likes to think that if he could go back and tell his twenty year old self just how close he and Dan were, he wouldn’t believe it. 

They’ve grown and changed massively since then. They’re older now, nineteen and twenty two, and Phil’s only got this year and one semester stopping him from graduating. That’s incredibly bittersweet, but slightly less sweet and definitely  _ very  _ bitter.

“My brother wants to come down for a weekend soon,” Dan says quietly, straightening his back. His younger brother’s only been to visit a handful of times; he’s still only sixteen and Dan’s mom is definitely hesitant to send her son into the city. But they’re hospitable -- they’ve got a futon and plenty of restaurants around them, and even though he doesn’t admit it, Dan’s brother misses him when he’s at uni.

“I’m going home next weekend,” Phil answers. “I don’t know if you wanted me there, too, but we have a wedding to go to back home.” Dan knows this, already. It’s written on their calendar, but he says it anyway.

“If you want to be home!” Phil doesn’t know if he’s imagining the enthusiasm in Dan’s voice, but he likes to think he’s not.

"You know Adrian adores you," Dan points out, voice warm.

"So you want me around?"

"Of course I do."

Forget butterflies, there's a swarm of something entirely different in the pit of Phil's stomach, and he feels so glowy, so absolutely complete that he doesn't think he could put it into words if he was being forced to.

"Maybe weekend after next?" he asks, setting down the glass of iced coffee in front of him. That seems as good a time as any, seeing as neither of them are busy with classes on weekends; Phil works, but only for a five hour shift on Saturday.

They shuffle through endless topics and finish their drinks, going for a second round of iced coffees. They'd individually paid for the first, but Dan quickly produces his wallet and buys their seconds, looking incredibly proud of himself as he returns the leather wallet to his pocket.

"I told you I'd get them next," he says, smirking.

Phil's a bit confused, doesn't recall Dan saying that earlier in the day, but he doesn't question it -- he's a uni student, so if Dan's offering to buy, he won't say no.

It dawns on him a few moments later, though, that Dan isn't talking about that day. He's talking about last time they came, how Phil bought them drinks and how he'd paid and how Dan had insisted that  _ he _ would be the one to get them next time.

"You remembered," he says, a bit awed. 

"Of course I did."

It's a wonder that Dan has remembered this. He can't remember half the material for school, can't remember meeting times or office hours for his professors, but he recalls the one thing he's said to Phil months ago. The glow in his best friend's chest only intensifies from there.

This coffee's a bit sweeter than the last, and Phil doesn't know if it's because the shifts have changed and the employees are bound to make the drinks differently, or because he's so fond it practically aches.

They sit for what is actually hours, but feels like seconds and years at the same time. Time shifts and changes, he knows, because the ice in their drinks melt and because people come and go from the shop; a table across from them where two people dressed in business looking outfits, drinking hot coffee and laying papers out in front of them not long ago have since been replaced by a mother and her teenager, who are splitting a muffin and warm coffees. The sky shifts from blue and cloudless to a bit dusky. Phil wonders if the employees want them to leave, but they're still paying customers, so.

He sighs.

They talk.

They talk some more.

They laugh until they're doubled over and getting dirty looks and until Dan realizes  _ he's tearing up _ because he's laughed so hard, and he doesn't know the last time that's happened.

They're happy, so inexplicably happy, have no cares in the world beyond them and their coffees and their talk -- talk of music, talk of movies, of mutual friends, of the weather, of "look at the sky, Phil!" and "there's a dog outside the window!" And it's effortless, it's effortless and even when they're silent, it isn't for long and it's not uncomfortable like it was.

Nothing's like it used to be, and Phil's strangely grateful for that.

He shifts, wondering whether to bring up the elephant in his room.

That's not quite the right way to phrase it. He wonders if Dan's even considering it, but he thinks that he might as well bring it up. He mulls over it internally for a few moments, sips at his coffee until Dan says that he needs to go to the bathroom, leaving him alone.

The younger boy returns to two fresh cups of coffee and a perplexed looking Phil, elbows rested on his knees and hand under his chin.

"Dan," he says, one eyebrow raised.

"Phil."

"Hi."

"Hello." He smiles.

"Question for you," Phil admits.

The smile fades if only slightly, but Phil presses on.

"Do you..." he shakes his head. He needs to think about how to ask this.

Rather, he  _ should _ put some more thought into how he's going to ask, but he doesn't.

He blurts: "do you still want to live together next year?" The words spill out before he can help it, and he swears Dan looks... relieved?

"Do you?" Dan asks.

"I asked first," Phil denies.

"Right. I think..." Dan takes his bottom lip in between his bottom two teeth, looking up earnestly. "I think... Yeah, I think I do. Er- if you want to?" His hand's at the back of his neck, rubbing. It's a nervous tic. Phil knows this."

"I want to," Phil confirms. "With you." 

It's music to Dan's ears. Dan's response had been music to Phil's, too, music of the most beautiful kind. Better than any of his favorite bands  _ combined. _

"You do," Phil says, grinning. He's half relieved that Dan's staying, half relieved they don't have to move their stuff out (moving into a sixth floor apartment hadn't been ideal. Moving out was even less ideal, certainly no path he wanted to go down.)

"I do," Dan agrees.

Phil's never loved him more.

 

Phil's sure that things are on the exact right track to just how they used to be. He doesn't think there's anyone else he'd want to spend his last year of university with, and his heart swells at the fact that Dan wants to stay and live with him, too.

"That's such a relief," he admits. "Both because I want to keep living with you and because moving all my things out would be a  _ nightmare _ ." They share a laugh at that; the two share an impressive collection of movies, figurines, and other odds and ends. Packing and moving into separate flats would be a nightmare. 

That's no concern, though-- they're staying together, and Phil's positively thrilled. 

Things feel almost like they used to. Dan looks over at him and smiles, and Phil thinks all the warmth in the world must be in his eyes. They crinkle at the corners, and Phil feels like he's gone to mush on the inside. Night time is falling. They've spent the better part of five hours tucked up in the corner of this coffee shop, talking and talking and talking, and Phil's so satisfied. It's a wonderful way to spend a Saturday.

"We'll get going soon," Dan states. It's a mutual agreement, because Phil works tomorrow and Dan has some uni work to complete. They still need to walk to the bus, a twenty minute drive from their apartment. It's in everyone's best interest to go back.

Even so, they linger slightly longer, sipping at their drinks and speaking, laughing, just enjoying one and other's presence. Neither of them want to leave, really, but eventually they need to get going; the crowd is growing and Phil's sure someone will want their spot.

They walk, strides matching one and other, down the sidewalk and to the crosswalk. The yellow lights seem to make Dan glow, Phil observes, though he's not sure if that's real or he's imagining it.

He loves Dan.

He  _ loves _ Dan.

Dan's quiet, just quiet and looking up at Phil with eyes that Phil sees the world in; sees the world and so many other worlds, all inside of Dan's brown eyes. He's a bit tired looking, under eyes darkened by lack of sleep, but he's lovely, so lovely, and he turns towards Phil with a glint in those brown eyes of him.

Phil knows he's got something up his sleeve, but he can't place what. They linger on the sidewalk, both a bit chilly but both content.

A warm hand takes his and blue eyes meet brown. Phil curls his fingers around Dan's hand, and his best friend repeats the action.

"Hi, Phil," he says. Nobody on the streets of London exists outside of them.

"Hey, Dan."

"Question."

"Answer?" Phil's unsure.

Dan steps forward. Phil's breath hitches.

"Is this okay?" Dan asks, soft.

The 'yes' is poised on Phil's lips, but it dies when Dan kisses him instead.

It's  _ so _ okay. It's gentle and a bit slow, makes golden warmth pool in the bottom of Phil's stomach. Phil's arms wrap around the younger boy, feeling at peace and like things are finally, finally falling into place.

When they come apart, there's a high and pink flush on Dan's cheeks and Phil doesn't think, for the second time that day, he's ever loved Dan more.

"That's okay," he says, breathless. The light changes.

They're on their way home; Phil's head spins. Phil's hand squeezes Dan's. Dan grins, squeezes Phil's back, and steps onto the bus.

Dan says: "Let's go home."

**Author's Note:**

> hey thanks for reading!! comments and kudos give me life.  
> i've really enjoyed participating in pbb and creating this fic for you all to read, so hopefully you enjoyed it!!  
> come say hey on [tumblr!!](http://www.kickthepjs.tumblr.com/about)


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